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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply